


Everything

by frek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frek/pseuds/frek
Summary: This is all he wants, if he's honest with himself. His entire world narrowed down to the beautiful man before him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Sterek fic I've written in years. I don't know where it came from, but I'm happy it happened. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> PS, this was written while listening to Take Me to Church on repeat, I might recommend reading it while listening to it, too.

With strong hands and biting teeth, Derek's firm body presses Stiles against the wall, one thick thigh insinuating itself between Stiles'. Stiles fumbles at first, hands scrabbling for purchase, brushing over muscled flesh until they finally settle on Derek's back, fingers curling tightly in his soft henley. This is all he wants, if he's honest with himself. His entire world narrowed down to the beautiful man before him. His every sense filled with him.

Their mouths work together, wet lips and tongues, small gasps escaping into the space between. Stiles isn't quiet. He moans and whimpers. He begs not just with his voice, but with every movement of his body, every tremble of his fingertips. He _wants_. But more than that. He _needs_.

And Derek is nothing if not benevolent. 

He _takes_ , yes. But he also _gives_. He gives Stiles the very things he's begging for. He rocks his hips against Stiles, feeling how his body responds with pride. He kisses those full lips until they're swollen and spit slicked, hot against his own. He drags his beard along pale skin, smiling at the shiver he feels Stiles' body give in return, at the redness he knows he'll see when he pulls back. 

When he does, Stiles stares up at him, eyes wide and dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He's a picture of perfection to Derek. Everything he's ever wanted, everything he craves. He feels his chest swell with affection, his stomach burn with need. It's a strange mix, heady, overwhelming. And for a moment, Derek doesn't move, just looks. Stiles lets him.

Until impatience wins out.

Stiles takes things into his own hands when he regains focus. He tugs his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside as he steps back into Derek's space. His hands easily find their way to Derek's waist, slipping beneath his henley, fingertips brushing over the soft hair of his belly as he pushes the shirt up. He's holding his breath, doesn't even realize it until he lets it out when more of Derek's body is revealed. 

Derek lets Stiles lead, lets him push the shirt up, only helps him finish removing it when he has to. He watches Stiles. Watches the look of reverence that crosses his familiar features when the shirt is gone, the way those long fingers find their way back to his skin. He only closes his eyes when Stiles' fingers brush over his nipples, thumbs teasing soft flesh to firmness. He moans. Softly. A sharp contrast to Stiles, who is anything but quiet. But Stiles catches the sound and the small smile that plays on his lips is positively feral. It sends a thrill straight to Derek's center and it's all he can do to stay standing.

Stiles reaches up, one hand sliding to cup the back of Derek's neck, dragging him down into a heated kiss, their bodies pressing together. He nips and licks at Derek's lips, his other hand sliding down along Derek's torso, reveling in the feel of the hair on his chest and stomach. When his fingers find the waist of Derek's jeans, he begins to work at the button and zipper, not willing to waste a moment. He might have so much of Derek already, but he needs more.

Stiles drags his lips over Derek's jaw, down his neck as he works his jeans open. He sucks small marks in his skin, knowing they'll disappear soon and hating that they do. But they make him happy while they're there. _Mine_ , they say. 

"Mine," Stiles says.

"Yours," Derek agrees.

Derek watches as Stiles makes his way down his body, lips finding a nipple, teeth and tongue scraping and soothing. Derek can't stop the whimper that escapes his lips. He doesn't care. He watches Stiles drag his jeans down his legs, helps him slide them off his feet. Watches as Stiles' gaze follows the lines of his body, falls on the way his cock presses against his briefs, already hard. His eyes grow impossibly darker and Derek reaches down to drag Stiles to him, one hand sliding down to cup his ass as their mouths meet.

The kiss isn't much more than the brush of lips between ragged breaths as their bodies strain to no longer be separate. Stiles curses as he pulls back, gaze unfocused, he's so gone. He drops to his knees, hands immediately reaching out to drag down Derek's underwear, wanting nothing more than the last vestige of his clothing gone. The view that meets his eyes never gets old to Stiles. Every time it feels like he's forgotten how perfect Derek is. From his intelligence and beauty to the heavy, uncut cock before him. His mouth waters and he can't stop himself from leaning in, breathing deep the heady scent, burying his nose in the curls at the base.

Derek doesn't know how he has gotten so lucky. How he found someone who is so smart and infuriating and beautiful. How he found someone who practically worships him, flaws and all. He doesn't question it, though. He revels in it, lets it settle into his very bones, lets it change him. He tries to feel worthy of Stiles' unending love and devotion. Sometimes he actually does.

Watching Stiles on his knees is a sight unlike anything Derek has seen before. Derek reaches out and slides his hand through Stiles' hair, tugging lightly on the strands as Stiles noses against his cock, tongue darting out along sensitive flesh. Derek curses, breathing rough. Stiles knows what he likes, knows how to draw every moment out. 

It's maddening. 

It's exhilarating.

Stiles isn't quiet. He doesn't know how to be. He moans, his tongue teasing along the underside of Derek's cock, enjoying the silky feel of the heated skin. And when Derek's fingers find their way into his hair, he rewards him. He slides his own hand around Derek's dick, holding him steady as he laps at the pre-come dripping from the tip, reveling at the bitter taste in a way he'd never imagined he would. This is for him. Every little drop. He isn't about to waste it.

"Fuck, Derek," Stiles murmurs before he wraps his lips around the head of Derek's cock, whimpering at the way Derek fills his mouth.

Perfect.

Derek's fingers curl tighter in Stiles' hair as Stiles takes him in his mouth. He can't look away, his gaze fixed on the way his cock disappears past those full lips. Stiles doesn't even choke, he takes Derek down to the root, swallowing him down. Derek doesn't hold back, he groans and gasps, inciting a responding moan from Stiles. It's so much. It's everything.

Stiles starts pulling off, one hand gently cupping Derek's balls before he takes him back down. Derek's hips rock slightly and Stiles invites it, opening his watering eyes to meet Derek's, nodding ever so slightly. Derek's breath catches in his throat and he lets go of the last shred of control he'd held onto this long. His hips cant toward Stiles, cock sliding past those swollen lips.

This is everything.

Stiles' eyes slip closed again as Derek starts to rock into his mouth. He feels Derek's other hand find its way to his hair and it's like a dam has burst because Derek's fucking into his mouth now, hard and fast. Stiles would call it punishing if it didn't feel so fucking good. He moans and gasps for breath when he can, feels drool slip past his lips. Stiles is so hard it aches. But he doesn't care. All he wants is to make Derek feel good, to feel him come, to taste him.

It doesn't take long, not with the pace Derek has set. Before Stiles knows it, Derek's hips start losing their rhythm and Stiles' fingers are gently massaging his tightened sac. And then with a shout and strong fingers gripping Stiles' hair so tightly it hurts, Derek is coming, spilling down his throat, filling his mouth. Stiles swallows every drop he's given, only pulls back when he knows Derek is done, raises his gaze to meet Derek's.

He's wrecked and he loves it.

Derek practically collapses to the floor beside Stiles. He drops down and drags Stiles to him, trembling fingers working to remove Stiles' jeans and underwear. Their lips find each other, Derek licks into Stiles' mouth, tasting himself on his tongue, loving it more than he can say. There's a moan shared between them, but Derek doesn't know whose it is. He doesn't care. Not when he finally has Stiles naked in his lap.

He spits into his palm and takes Stiles in hand, stroking him as they kiss. Stiles never stops making noise, every kiss is punctuated by a sound, every stroke by another. Derek's thankful for it. He never wants Stiles to stop, wants every moment of his life filled with Stiles' noises, his hums and thoughts. But right now all he wants are his moans, his whimpers, his whispered curses and filth. 

Derek gets what he wants.

Stiles begs and fucks up into Derek's hand, his arms wrapped around Derek's shoulders, face pressed to his neck. "Fuck... Derek, so good..." Stiles whispers as he chases his release, knowing it won't take much more. And then Derek asks Stiles to come and he does, his body doubling over Derek as his strong hand milks every last bit of come he has to offer from him, coating their stomachs.

They collapse together, bodies shivering in the aftermath, the room is quiet now. The world is quiet. Except the pounding of their hearts and their ragged breaths. Stiles rests his head on Derek's chest as Derek's arms slip around his body, holding him close. He doesn't know how long they lay like this, only that eventually their breathing slows and Stiles is left with the sound of a steady heartbeat beneath his ear and a soft voice humming above him. Gentle fingers run through his hair, a far cry from the way they tugged and yanked earlier. It's all Stiles can do to keep from falling asleep just like this.

"I love you."

The words are whispered. Full of the very emotion they profess. It doesn't matter who says it. They both know it's true. They both feel it. It doesn't need said. But it's there and it's everything.

This moment. This feeling. These words. This man.

Everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@frek](http://frek.tumblr.com) on tumblr, though I'm not there as often anymore.


End file.
